


Unfairness is a shade of green.

by LadyTeacup



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Custom Trevelyan, Dragon Age Inquisition, M/M, Mage, Magic, My First AO3 Post, My First Work in This Fandom, Short & Sweet, The Anchor, The Mark of the Rift, Trespasser DLC, dorian pavus - Freeform, mage problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6656488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTeacup/pseuds/LadyTeacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short piece mid-Tresspasser. </p><p>The Mark of the Rift is becoming more of a burden with each passing day for Quinn Trevelyan. With the prospect of facing the Exalted Council and the pain of the Mark rearing its ugly head, nothing seems fair. </p><p>The world isn't content to let Quinn be at peace with the man he loves, and the injustice of it all leaves a sour taste in his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfairness is a shade of green.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! 
> 
> This is just a short piece I wrote after re-playing Tresspasser.  
> It always leaves me wanting more, so this is me getting it out of my system in little spurts.  
> It was fun to write, and I hope its an enjoyable little read to someone out there. :)

The Mark bit down on Quinn Trevelyan's hand like a vice. The angry green glow felt like it was singeing through every vein in his body. He awoke with a start. Barely being able to suppress a grunt of pain through gritted teeth, Quinn's marked hand trembled with the force of the glow; it was all he could do to clench his wrist with his other hand to steady the tremor.

After taking a few shallow breaths, Quinn readied himself to spring off the bed without disturbing the precious sleeping form beside him. It was miraculous that his sudden wakened state hadn't already roused Dorian from his slumber, and he'd give anything not to disturb the much deserved time his beloved fellow mage had gotten to finally get some rest.

 _It's gotten worse._ He'd known it all along. The threat of the mark consuming him whole had always been an unwelcome fury dancing at the back of his mind. Dorian would only fret and fuss in that disguised way of his, he knew that all too well. Better to let him have peace of mind and pretend everything was okay. That's what he'd tell himself anyway.  


Life was inexplicably unfair. He'd tempered the age old dispute between the mages and templars, prevented chaos in Halamshiral, faced down a fear demon and multiple dragons. Oh, and a fucking ancient Darkspawn. It still wasn’t enough. The world wouldn't let him rest. All he wanted was some peace and quiet with the man he loved. Was that really so much to ask? 

The bitter, unrelenting pain of the mark gave him his answer. Apparently it was.

Hiding something from someone was so much easier when the other person was off in Tevinter trying to salvage their homeland, but with Dorian once again in close proximity, the facade was harder to uphold. He could all too keenly sense his composure cracking. Dorian wasn't an idiot, he'd notice sooner or later, but Quinn was determined to keep the peace for as long as possible.

They had to deal with the bloody Exalted Council first anyway.  
Honestly. The Inquisition had actively saved Thedas from the Breach and now they were being put through the wringer, tried as though they were nothing more than petty criminals. That’s all the thanks they get.

Questioned, prodded, accused. It seemed to be a recurring pattern in Trevelyan's life. Being a mage in a noble family from Ostwick made him no stranger to ridicule and distrust.  


In his nightmares he would see the disappointed flash in his mother's eyes, the disgust painted over his father's face. The horror, the judgement, the scorn. Sent off to the circle. Pushed aside. He wasn't a part of the family anymore, and all because of something he was born with. 

The pain flared up again as the blaze of green intensified. If Quinn could meet an embodiment of his fate, he was certain he would punch it square in the nose.  
If there was ever a colour he despised, it was the sickly shade of green emanating from his hand. It had become a colour of injustice, snatching the idyllic, peaceful life he so craved away from his grasp. 

Quinn stood at the foot of the bed now, stifling the groans of pain threatening to escape him as he looked on at Dorian sleeping soundly.  
With his gaze following the contented rise and fall of his beloved's chest through the darkness - which he used as an imaginary anchor to steady himself from the biting sting of the mark - he couldn’t but help but think one thing. 

_Unfairness truly is a shade of green._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking it out!


End file.
